


Life, Death, and a Blessing in Between

by pith



Category: Strange Grace - Tessa Gratton
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pith/pseuds/pith
Summary: Arthur, Mairwen, and Rhun are the new heart of Three Graces.





	Life, Death, and a Blessing in Between

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** _Strange Grace_ ; this takes place after the end of the book  
>  **Disclaimers:** Characters and world belong to Tessa Gratton. I tried to pay respects to her ethereal style, but I also wrote this during NaNoWriMo 2018, so I'm sure I fell short.  
>  **Warnings:** sexual content (m/f, m/m, m/m/f; all consenting minors)  
>  **Original posting date:** [4 December 2018](https://pithia.livejournal.com/114118.html)
> 
> (Apologies. I'm still new to AO3, so if I get tags or something wrong, let me know and I'll do my best to correct them.)

Life and death and a blessing in between. That has always been the knot that has kept Three Graces from unravelling, the recipe that keeps the village hale and whole. Mairwen Grace thought she had always known her place in it. To be a Grace witch is to be the blessing, the bridge. Now she's not so sure. The blessing still courses through her veins, darker and thicker than blood, but she wears death like a mantle now too. Some days she wraps it around herself entirely, pulling its hood down to blinker her vision so that she only sees straight ahead to what needs to be done. Some days that makes things simpler; other days, it simply lessens the hurt.

Now that she's living in the old Vaughn house with Rhun Sayer and Arthur Couch, though, she can feel what _life_ really means. Energy rises in her like the shoots of new trees, green and tender. A kiss from Rhun makes her blossom. When Arthur reaches for her hand and takes it, hesitating less and less each time he touches her, her smile spreads as warm and bright as the sunrise.

Maybe that had always been the problem with Three Graces. Sy Vaughn had even hinted at it. Most things are more than one thing at once. Mairwen had thought trying to be three would be a delicate act of balance and shuffling, sacrifice and compromise. It is, but more than that, it's learning. Learning to let someone else's strength bear the weight when hers cannot. Learning how to make her own place in a place that's named for her kin. Learning that it's not about being a devil or a saint but being herself, the self in between.

#

Arthur Couch was the first to claim Sy Vaughn's manor house and no one contested it. Perhaps Mairwen would have thought of it, but she was still in the Devil's Forest at the time, burning and smoldering and making herself anew. Arthur's burned much of his old self away too, but from the inside. He feels stronger now with Rhun's fingers in his grasp than the hilt of a blade.

It took some convincing to get Rhun to move from his family house, but once Mairwen returned, sharp and stark, that was that. Sy Vaughn's bed was big enough for the three of them, and the hearthstone connected them to the forest and to the old Grace house, where Mairwen had yet to see her mother taking root. But Arthur didn't have to do much at all to convince them to purge much of the Vaughn influence from the house. Anything that could be sold or traded in the city was set aside; anything that could be useful in the village was kept, relocated to a communal storehouse. All else was burned. Now that there would be no more Saints to run, Three Graces needed another rallying point, and Arthur had suggested the Cleansing Fires. "Mair burned in the tree," he noted. "Why not burn away the bad each year? Use the ashes or bury them, but there are enough ghosts here already."

To Arthur's surprise, most of Three Graces liked the idea, and the bonfires that had once lit up the night for the potential Saints now burn with remnants of former lives. His father had been one of the ones to leave the village after Mairwen gave herself to the forest, and so Arthur's fire was one of the largest, burning long and deep with Gethin's belongings. Nona Sayer, the only mother who mattered to him now, had taken away anything that could be useful for someone else and put it in the communal storehouse. It, like so much in Three Graces, works on the honour system, and Arthur had flinched the first time he saw someone else wearing his father's old boots, but now he scarcely notices. Boots are just boots. 

Skirts are just skirts.

When someone embraces him from behind as he watches the last bits of Gethin Couch burn away, he's not certain who it is at first. Being loved by two people still astounds him, since he hadn't thought he could ever be loved by anyone. But Rhun's arms fit perfectly around his middle and Mairwen always breathes deeply when she nuzzles the space between his shoulder blades, and Arthur reaches back to touch them both. "Let's go home," he says softly. When he's with them, wherever they are is home, but he's calmest when his two homes are combined, the manor and them.

Rhun rests his chin on Arthur's shoulder. "We can stay." The night sky is still deep blue, not yet true black, and the village's bonfires are reaching up high. The rite had started off awkwardly, as all new traditions do, but soon the people of Three Graces started sharing stories about the things they were burning, tales embarrassing or sad, and it quickly became a gathering like any other. 

Arthur squeezes Rhun's hands, clasped over his heart. "I don't want to stay."

Mairwen nestles closer, the blessing in between as always, and she winds an arm around his waist. She, more than either Rhun or even Arthur, doesn't care what the rest of Three Graces thinks of them. "Then let's go."

They do, hand in hand in hand, ducking past family and friends and walking the long trail up to the Vaughn manor house in deepening darkness. One day, Arthur thinks, this home will need a new name too, a new story. For that night, though, it will do, because other stories are growing. The story of Three Graces last three Saints, entwined forever, by choice and with choices, is his favourite story, and he wants to see how tonight's chapter ends.

#

Rhun Sayer has always loved Three Graces. Even now, with its secrets and lies come to light, he loves it still. Perhaps he even loves it more, because he and Arthur and Mairwen are its heart, and those two are his. Maybe they'll have to work harder to bring the crops in. Maybe illness won't pass in a night. Maybe it makes him selfish, but Rhun won't give up a life that lets him have both Arthur and Mairwen in it.

After Aderyn passed, Mairwen had no living kin left. Arthur's birth mother was long gone, and his father left after Three Graces's last three Saints upended the bargain. Rhun's mother had spoken for him all those years ago, when his mother was a coward and his father even more so, and she speaks for him now. The handfasting may not have any real weight, but it means something to Rhun. It's something he thought he could never have. He worried that he would have to choose between them, Arthur and Mairwen, and in choosing he would lose the other forever.

Arthur isn't convinced. "No knot can keep someone somewhere," he points out as they lounge in Sy Vaughn's large bed the morning of the handfasting. 

Mairwen flops against him, pillowing her head on his chest. "A ring can't either. Nothing can. That's not the point, Arthur. It's . . . it's a way of saying you _want_ to stay."

Rhun wisely stays out of the argument, instead admiring the others as they bicker. Their stubbornness is laced through with love, though he's not sure either of them see it. 

"Then why isn't someone's word enough?" Arthur demands. "Why does it need a ribbon or a ring or . . . ?" He's tucked between Mairwen and Rhun, a recent development. Before he preferred to be on either end so he could move away at will. Now he doesn't mind being entangled so much. He's learned that anchors do much more than just keep you in place.

There's no good answer, so neither Mairwen nor Rhun try to give one. They just kiss Arthur instead and bask in the warm bed and each other until they have to get up to get dressed for the ceremony. As a concession to Arthur, it's a small gathering, mostly Sayer kin along with Hetty and a few of Mairwen's friends. To please Mairwen, they're all barefoot, even though the sun-dried grasses are itchy. Rhun needs nothing special; he just needs them, and when his mother steps forward and ties the long ribbon about their three clasped hands, he smiles through a gentle flood of tears. With his free hand, Arthur brushes some away; on her side, Mairwen claims each with a small kiss. 

Once the ceremony is done and the feasting begins, Rhun asks Mairwen to tie his hair back with the handfasting ribbon. It will wear through one day, he knows, but for now, it's a simple way to keep those he loves most close to him always.

#

If he really thinks about it, Arthur's not surprised that he and Mairwen were the first to have sex. Rhun wants to, they can all tell, but he's still clinging to the mantle of the best boy, the good son. Mairwen's only mantle is that of the Grace witch, one that always came with a certain amount of latitude, and Arthur doesn't care what the rest of the village thinks.

As most things between them, it wasn't planned, and it was equal parts stubbornness and love. He can't even remember how the argument started now, but the flush in Mairwen's angry face brought out the copper in her cropped hair, and Arthur remembered a burning flash of cruel thought: how unfair it was that Mairwen remained steadfastly a _girl_ no matter her hair length or what she wore. Their voices rose along with their tempers and then somehow they were kissing. So much of their life went that way—the pace set with a kiss—that Arthur didn't think much of it at first.

But then he was pressing Mairwen against the wall and the lace of her bodice was giving way beneath his fingers as her hands were tugging at his belt. It wasn't until her fingers wrapped around him, ironically, that his common sense kicked in. "Mair. We shouldn't—you need. . . ."

Mairwen laughed against his kiss-swollen mouth. "I'm still the Grace witch, Arthur Couch. I know what I need to do." Her fingers didn't retreat, but they didn't advance either. "But if you want to stop—"

"No." They didn't speak again until all their clothes were pulled free and cast to the floor, and Arthur had no qualms about taking in as much of Mairwen as he could. As she tugged him towards the massive hearth, the stone that joined the Vaughn manor and the Grace house and the forest itself, he snaked a hand around her bare hip and paused. "Mair, you know I don't know—"

"I do." She pulled him closer. "Lie back." Once he was stretched across the hearthstone like a sacrifice on an altar, Mairwen straddled his thighs, running her hands up his chest. "If you want to stop—"

Arthur felt like he was going to explode. The stone was cold against his back, but even that chill did nothing to combat the inferno of Mairwen against his bare thighs. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and drew her closer. "I won't."

Mairwen faltered only slightly, her hands stilling at his waist. "But if you do. . . ."

"I _won't_ ," he growled, digging his fingers in deeper. Rhun was back at the Sayer house, but he would eventually see the bruises. He would know what they did without him. And for a burning, blinding moment, Arthur didn't care in the least. 

"Okay."

When Mairwen grasped him again and lowered herself on him, they both gasped. His was deep, hers was sharp, and both were hungry. Her knowledge was all learned, not experienced first-hand, but her hips knew what to do when her brain didn't. Her knees quickly reddened against the floor, but she didn't stop. Arthur pulled her down into an aching, electric kiss, and she still didn't stop. She rocked and rocked until they groaned with pleasure, and Arthur's hands nearly crushed her hips as his release arched his back against the sweat-slickened hearthstone.

Mairwen sprawled across his chest, their sticky bodies still joined, still twitching with delight, and a laugh bubbled out of her. Years ago, Arthur might have bristled at that, figuring it was a slight against him, a challenge. Now he knew it was simply another part of her pleasure seeking its release, frantic energy taking any channel it could find. "Thank you," she murmured, kissing his neck and stroking his heaving sides.

"You did most of the work." Not that Arthur was complaining. He had tried pleasuring himself before, of course, but this had been so much better.

Smiling still, Mairwen slid off him, and for a moment Arthur was mesmerized by the wetness slicked between them. Then she gave him a gentle nudge until he moved, allowing her to stretch out where he had been. "We can switch." Her arms and legs were spread in welcome alike.

Arthur lowered himself to her slowly, taking the time to touch and appreciate the parts of her that he hadn't before, and the sunbeams on the floor had shifted to shadow by the time he actually entered her, but by then, neither of them were concerned with anything so simple as time.

#

Rhun may not be mercurial in nature, but the two people he loves most and best in all the world are, and so he's learned how to interpret their language of moods and silences. He can sense that something has changed between Arthur and Mairwen, but he isn't sure what, not until he comes home from the fields one late afternoon to the sound of Mairwen screaming. She's been having nightmares on and off ever since returning from the forest, so Rhun thinks nothing of taking the stairs two or three at a time, heading straight for the bedroom the three of them share more often than not.

In the back of his mind, he thinks that he's never quite heard her scream like that before, at least not from a nightmare; this wail is laced with hunger. He's just about to call out her name, to let her know that she's safe, when he gets his first glimpse through the doorway.

Arthur's shirt is on the floor, his pants shoved low on his thighs. He eclipses most of Mairwen against the wall, but Rhun still catches glimpses: a bare leg, a hint of a breast. She's wearing only a skirt by the looks of it, and just barely at that, and both of her hands are fists in Arthur's mussed hair as Mairwen's head tips back in another desirous howl. The floor boards beneath Arthur's shifting feetsqueak.

Rhun steps back immediately, but not before Mairwen opens her eyes and spots him. She opens her mouth to say something, but Arthur claims it in a fevered kiss, which gives Rhun time to retreat. He's not some naive fool. The Sayer house was never big enough for all the people who lived in it, so he had accidentally caught glimpses of his parents making love, or older cousins sneaking girlfriends or boyfriends up to the loft, slipping hands under their clothes. But it had never sounded so violent.

He heads into the forest to clear his head, but it's not much of a surprise when the bird women begin to whisper _Grace witch, Grace witch!_ A few moments later, Rhun sees Mairwen making her way through the trees, barefoot but otherwise dressed. He could evade her, outrun her, but he loves her too much for that. When she finally appears in the clearing by the stone, it's Rhun who crosses the last bit of distance between them. "I'm sorry," she says simply, pressing a soft kiss to this mouth.

Rhun can feel a small cut there and his tongue flicks out to lick away the blood. Arthur's work. "Don't be. You two are free to do as you please."

Mairwen's mouth twitches with amusement. She's not used to assuaging him; normally Arthur is the sullen one, the one whose feelings need to be tended and rearranged like the kindling in a fire. "You know we both want you."

"I know. But I don't think I want . . . that." Rhun isn't even sure what _that_ is. He just knows that anything he had learned about sex before was gentle and joyous; he wants laughter, not screams.

"We don't have to be the same thing for everybody. We don't have to do the same things with each other." Mairwen steps closer and kisses him, one of those soft, slow kisses that takes Rhun out of time, out of his mind, and scatters his thoughts like sunbeams. The feel of her hands on his hips brings everything back to a burning core. "Can I show you?"

Rhun nods wordlessly. Part of him regrets not taking Mairwen up on her offer before his Saint run, the part of him that was never the best boy, maybe not even a good one. The more time he spends with her and Arthur, though, he realizes that part isn't necessarily _bad_ either, just different. He lets her position him as she will, nudging him until he's laying across the hearthstone and gazing up at the canopy of the forest and the sky beyond.

While she undoes his pants, Mairwen nuzzles his belly, pulling up his shirt with her teeth so she can pepper soft kisses along his abdomen. Pressure swirls in him, building until he understands that howl that tore itself from Mairwen's mouth, and once her hands are on him, his lungs feel like they're about to burst. "Is this okay?" she whispers. He feels the words more than hears them, her mouth pressed so low beneath his navel all he can see of her face is her eyes, dark and deep.

Mairwen may have started with her hands, but then she switches to her tongue and finally her mouth, all of it, and Rhun gasps. It's as if his body had been a darkened room and someone suddenly lit a hundred candles all at once, bringing brightness and heat and pushing away all the shadows that were plaguing him. "Mair." She keeps her eyes on him as she moves and Rhun twines his fingers in her hair, urging her closer. 

There's no question now. He definitely wishes he had done this sooner, best boy or not.

Rhun's climax takes him by surprise and his first instinct is to apologize, but Mairwen merely smiles as she sits back, licking her lips clean. "Was that okay?" She traces a single finger up the inside of his thigh, but it's enough to make him tremble.

"Come here." As soon as Mairwen's close enough, Rhun pulls her down into a kiss, deep and warm. "Thank you. I want . . . I want so much. I want _you_ so much, but. . . ." He looks around at the forest around them. The stone at his back is hard; he doesn't want to press Mairwen against it. The ground is strewn with broken branches. He wants to sink into her, savour her, not tear her to shreds. "Not here."

Mairwen nips his bottom lip and reaches down to squeeze him briefly before she stands. "You're not quite ready yet anyway. But we could start making our way home. . . ."

Rhun pulls his pants up and stands, tugging Mairwen in a different direction. "Follow me?" It's not quite a question, so Mairwen offers no more answer than to take his hand, and then the two are dashing out of the forest, Rhun leading the way. Once Mairwen realizes they're heading to the Sayer house, she slows, but Rhun simply swings her into his arms. "Everyone's gone," he promises. "They're in town with the Pughs."

Mairwen knows this house as well as she knew her own. She greets the family dogs, who recognize her scent and accept her hands on their heads after Rhun sets her back on her feet. She knows the creaky floors and tilted doorways, and she knows which room Rhun will be taking her to. "Are you sure?" she asks softly.

Nodding, Rhun pulls her into his old room. "I should have said yes before. I wish I had. I . . . I know it won't be the same, but—"

"It will be whatever we make it," she promises him, kissing his lips, his jaw, his ear.

When Mairwen reaches for the lace of her bodice, though, Rhun stops her. "Can I?" His voice catches and sounds too young, but she kisses away his doubt and lets her hands drop to her sides. Rhun takes his time undressing her, layer by layer, and even once she's bared to him, he only takes off his shirt before lowering her to his bed. Minutes turn long and languid as they kiss and touch, as he explores her curves and edges, learning what type of touch in which place conjures what sound from her mouth. Her cheeks are flushed and her breath is quick by the time he finally takes off the rest of his clothes, and entering her is as easy and natural as breathing; he can't imagine now that he had worried about not knowing what to do.

It's even better than Mairwen's hands or her mouth, because he can touch so much more of her in turn. They move together like they're dancing and this time Rhun can fully appreciate the climax as it sweeps over him. Beneath him, Mairwen is practically glowing, but he knows she isn't quite done. "How can I—"

Mairwen takes his hand and guides him, and she lets out a perfect hybrid of sound, a laugh and a squeal and a sigh knitted together. "There," she gasps. "Just . . . there."

Rhun is happy to oblige, and it doesn't take him long to learn. It doesn't take long for Mairwen either, and soon she's kissing him between gasps, just as loud as how Arthur made her howl. He only stops when she arches so high off his bed he thinks they're going to tumble off, and then she lets out a delighted little squeak before falling back. "Really? That's it?" He's heard so many of the men in Three Graces complain about how hard their wives are to please, and it only took Rhun some patience and a few fingers.

"It's one way." Mairwen pulls him down against her and while they recover their energy, they let their hands drift and explore, and she whispers things in Rhun's ear: things to try, things to watch out for, things they'll need. He listens as eagerly as he kisses. He's a quick learner, after all.

#

Mairwen is used to being the subject of whispers in Three Graces. She is the Grace witch, after all, and the daughter of the devil, and one must have strong shoulders to bear one of those mantles, let alone both. She knows what the whispers say now, now that she and Rhun and Arthur are all living together in the Vaughn family manor. They whisper that there was only ever one bed in the manor, yet the three of them haven't requested another. They whisper about how freely Arthur pulls her close to kiss her now, how Rhun will nuzzle her neck in the middle of the village square. They whisper bets about who will father her first child.

For the most part, she ignores them. She has more right to the Vaughn manor house than anyone else in Three Graces. She and Arthur and Rhun saved the village; surely they have earned their freedoms, bound up in the handfasting knot that Rhun still wears in his hair whenever he can. But sometimes the whispers still rankle, and Mairwen is about to turn on one of the older women and tell her to just ask her damn question when she notices a young, eager face around the corner. Young Emma Howell is there, the one who had spent time in the manor house with Arthur before Mairwen returned from the forest, and her eyes are full of questions. "Miss Mairwen?" she asks.

"Just Mairwen will do." She doesn't care if it goes against the Howells' teachings about manners. A lot of things need to change in Three Graces, and automatic respect for the simple act of being older than someone else is one of them.

Emma's smile transforms her face into a landscape of wonder. "Mairwen." She says the name like it's a magic spell. "What's it like to have two husbands?"

Mairwen knows to keep certain things out of her answers, like how it feels to be touched from the front and behind at all once, to turn from one mouth to the next. "I love Rhun and Arthur both very much." It's a safe answer, and better yet it's true; so often, answers are one but not the other.

Emma glances around before motioning Mairwen down to her level. "I don't want two husbands. I don't even want one." She says the last with a thread of worry woven into her voice.

"So what do you want?" Mairwen asks, taking the girl's hand. The shock of being asked, of her wants being considered, is bright in Emma's eyes. 

"I . . . I think I would like to be handfasted to a girl, one day," Emma admits.

Mairwen gives her a wide smile. "Then I hope you find a girl you would like to handfasted with and, when the time comes, I would be honoured to tie the ribbon for you."

"But . . . but no one in Three Graces has ever. . . ." Emma has no words for her thoughts. Such things aren't taught in Three Graces, so how could she?

"Three Graces is different now, or at least it's becoming so. Arthur is Rhun's husband as much as he is mine," Mairwen points out, "and likewise Arthur is Rhun's." She spots the person she's come to find, and she pats Emma on the hand as she stands. "I will be going gathering in the forest before the next full moon. Would you like to come with me?"

"YES!" Emma spins with delight before catching up with her family.

Mairwen watches the girl go, fuelled by budding freedom, before approaching Haf. She knows her best friend will likely not remain in Three Graces much longer. For her entire life, Haf knew nothing but the village, but now that the lies and secrets have been broken open, the wider world beckons, and her fiance is happy to oblige her. For now, though, they are some of the only residents who will venture out to the cities outside the valley for trade. "Haf," she says warmly, hugging her friend. "Are you and Ifan are going to the city at the end of the week?"

"Yes. Do you have a list?" Haf is always wary of Mairwen's lists, mostly because they contain things she's never heard of and doesn't know where to find. In that regard, this one will be no different.

"I do." Mairwen pulls the list from her belt and smoothes it out. Fabric is the most mundane item on the list, though its purpose is anything but. She knows most of the other items will make Haf blush, but she can't risk being so far from the forest herself. She, Arthur, and Rhun are the heart now, so they must stay close.

" _Mairwen_." Haf sounds scandalized; she must recognize more of the items than Mairwen suspected. "You have two husbands! Why do you need . . . that?" She gestures vaguely to one of the items on the list.

"Because my husbands are also married to each other," she gently points out, "and thus often busy with each other, which leaves me to my own devices." It will have other uses, but she doesn't want to push Haf's sensibilities too far. Three Graces will grow in time, but it can't be rushed. "This should cover everything," she adds, handing Haf a bag full of tiny sachets. Natural healing has become popular in the city, so Mairwen makes natural medicines for Haf to offer in trade.

"Mairwen, these books . . . where would I even look for them?" Haf pleads, but Mairwen has already kissed her cheek and moved on. She has two husbands to get home to, after all.

#

They never really talk about what they do with each other when one of the three isn't there, but it isn't out of jealousy. They all grew up under the scrutiny of Three Graces' myopic morals and even gregarious Rhun likes a bit of privacy now and then. They've all caught glimpses of each other, heard whispers and moans, but it's all a part of them, of their strange new bond that changes a bit each day.

Mairwen is usually the one who takes the lead in bringing up something new or out of the ordinary, and there isn't much that makes her flinch. She's walked past Rhun and Arthur nearly naked, kissing and tangled on the bed, and it just makes her smile. Sometimes she'll lean down and kiss their foreheads and tell them to have fun. For some reason, though, she stops that day and sighs, making the boys pull apart slightly to look at her. "You still don't know how to have each other, do you?"

Arthur rolls onto his side and gives her an arch look. "It's not exactly a conversation starter in Three Graces, I'm sure you've noticed." He and Rhun still get snide looks in the village, but less often and from only a handful of villagers. Most people are willing to allow the saviours of Three Graces a few things, or at least look the other way.

Rhun pulls his hand out of Arthur's pants, but lets it linger on his hip. "Are you saying you do?" He says it with a laugh, but his eyes are bright and eager. He loves being with Mairwen and wants that same connection, that same depth, with Arthur too. 

"Hands and mouths work the same regardless." Mairwen's voice is a cryptic sing-song as she opens the trunk at the end of the bed and plucks out a book. "Your mouths aren't any different than mine. If anything, they're bigger." When neither boy seems to catch on, she rolls her eyes and flips through the book. Once she finds the page she's looking for, she climbs on the bed with them and shows them, holding the book open like a doting teacher for both to see. "See?" She flips a few pages forward. "And this?"

Arthur reaches forward and turns the page back to one Mairwen had passed over. "How would that even work?" He tilts his head to one side and then the other, but the different vantage points don't make much difference.

Rhun pulls the book from her and sets it flat between them all. "Where did you get this?" He knows for a fact no book like this was in Three Graces before. He or one of his brothers or cousins would have found it. Its illustrations are simple, but detailed enough.

"I had Haf pick it up when she and Ifan went into the city for supplies. I thought you one of would have found it by now." Then Mairwen rolls off the bed and takes a small bottle out of the trunk. The liquid inside is a ghostly blue and it clings to the side of the glass with a rainbow shimmer. "You'll need this for the second one," she advises. "I made it. It's safe."

When Arthur reaches for the bottle, Rhun reaches for him instead, tugging at the waist of his pants until they're far enough down. He starts off thinking back to being with Mairwen in the forest, when she had him stretch across the hearthstone like a sacrifice on an altar and seemed to devour him. She's done that with Arthur too, he knows; he's seen them once or twice, watching perhaps longer than he should have. The angle he has at the moment isn't ideal, but Arthur's thigh muscles clench beneath him, so he must be doing something right. "Rhun. . . ." Arthur's breath catches on his name, ensnared by it.

Glancing to the side, Rhun sees Mairwen smiling. "Told you. Don't forget to use the bottle for the second one." Then she grabs her basket and ducks out of the bedroom. 

The manor's main door shuts a few moments later, but neither boy notices. Arthur is stretching out across the bed, trying to give Rhun as much to touch as possible; Rhun's curled up between Arthur's legs, trying to find the perfect rhythm of tongue and mouth. His own body is aching, imagining their roles reversed and himself in Arthur's mouth, but he wants this more. It's always Mairwen or Arthur pushing the boundaries, blurring the lines; just this once, Rhun will be the first, and the memory will curl up like a cat in a sunbeam in his mind, content in its perfect place.

The sensation is odd, he must admit, and his jaw is unused to the strain, but it's worth it to hear Arthur's moans, to feel Arthur writhe. While his mouth is busy, Rhun pulls Arthur's pants off the rest of the way and pushes them to the side, then fumbles with his own. They've been skin to skin before, but now that they know more of what to do, Rhun is hungrier than ever.

Arthur climaxes suddenly, taking them both by surprise, and that's another thing Rhun realizes he'll have to get used to; perhaps Mairwen will have some advice for that as well, since she has more practice than both of then combined. "Was it—?"

But Rhun doesn't have a chance to answer his question. Arthur, still panting, rolls him over and reverses their roles, his eagerness compensating for his lack of experience. Rhun barely manages to push the precious book and Mairwen's bottle out of the way. Arthur seems more confident than he himself had felt, but Rhun's too busy gasping for air to worry. They have plenty of time to experiment with each other; thanks to their bond, the new magic they wove with the forest, they could have forever.

The illustration on the second page takes more time to master, but Rhun doesn't regret a single second, and he makes sure Arthur doesn't either. They're both spent and drained and deliriously happy, sitting up against the bed frame and paging through Mairwen's book. There's plenty to try in there. Judging from the soft edges of some pages and some subtle bends at the corners, Mairwen apparently has some plans, or at least things she wants to try. Rhun's finger lingers on one and he glances up at Arthur. "Do you think Mairwen would accept that as a token of our gratitude?" he asks, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder. He feels utterly complete now, yet he knows he'll never stop wanting more; it is, he thinks, the perfect definition of love.

Arthur traces the entwined figures, careful not to get any of Mairwen's wonderful concoction on the page. "She'll love it," he agrees. "But we should practice first. . . ."

The book and the bottle are shoved aside again. Inexperienced as they are, for some things Rhun and Arthur need only each other.

#

Rhun is their centre, their core. Neither Mairwen nor Arthur would deny it. The orbit he creates is effortless and seamless, undeniable and irresistible. But lately he's been gently nudging Mairwen into the centre. Three Graces still needs its witch, at least for now, and Rhun and Arthur still need their thriving, thorny heart. Still, she's not used to waking up between them. That's normally Rhun's spot, radiating enough warmth for them all. She feels small between them, but not reduced. If she is the heart, they curve around her like ribs.

Rhun's at her back, nuzzling the valley between her shoulder blades. "Do you remember how I tied a ribbon for the Witch Tree in your hair?" he whispers against the nape of her neck. The words slide down like sweat.

Arthur's arm is draped across her hip, and Mairwen walks her fingers across it. "It was red." Her voice is thick with sleep and satiety, her eyes shut against the encroaching sun. "I remember keeping it. It's probably still in the house. Why?" She's finally ventured back into the Grace house, but with her mother rooted there, stretching for the sky, she rarely lingers. Most of the things she needs have already been moved to the old Vaughn manor, and the rest of Three Graces regards the house as a shrine.

"Can I tie something else in your hair?" Rhun asks, gently shifting her until she's fully on her side. In his sleep, Arthur presses closer, face buried against her belly. She sighs at the gentle pressure and threads a hand through his hair. 

Mairwen is still languid, too content to pay much heed to Rhun's random questions. "Sure." He moves away for a moment, spilling cold air across her bare back, but he returns before she even has a chance to shiver. 

"Let me know if it's too tight." The softness of the ribbon tickles her cheek as Rhun gathers her wild curls, just barely long enough for a stub of a ponytail.

She waits to feel the familiar tug of her hair being brought together and tied back, but instead Rhun gently lifts her head enough to loop the ribbon around, running it across her eyes and the bridge of her nose. "Rhun?" Mairwen's lashes rasp against the ribbon as she tries to open her eyes, but the darkness she finds there is almost absolute, softened only at the edges of the fabric. "What are you doing?" Her heart quickens, but not with alarm.

It's Arthur who answers, his voice seeming to echo through her hips. "We read more of that book you bought. We thought there were some other things we could try."

"Oh." A laugh trickles past her lips, delirious and desirous. Now that she cannot see, she has to rely on her other senses, which suddenly seem like they're speaking in foreign tongues. "Like what?" When one of them gently rolls her onto her back, it feels like her entire body has taken a huge gasp of cold air. 

Fingers dance along her hip and the inside of her thighs, too many to track. "You'll see." Rhun's voice is a low purr. "If you want us to stop, just say so. But no peeking."

"And if you cheat," Arthur adds, lips brushing her ear, "we'll tie your wrists too."

Mairwen's heart surges. At the moment, Arthur's threat doesn't sound like much of a punishment. "Maybe you should do that anyway," she retorts, "just to be safe."

Then there's nothing. All the fingers and mouths have left her body in one fell swoop, and she strains with the senses still available to her. She can't hear footsteps or doors closing; she doesn't feel any sudden drafts. Three words come from the darkness: "Who is it?"

Laughing, Mairwen rolls her eyes beneath the safety of the blindfold. "Rhun, I know your voice. You'll have to do better than that."

"That's not what I meant." Rhun's voice sounds closer now, but she hears two sets of footsteps, and someone's blocking some of the sun from the window. "Who's doing _this?_ "

Then someone's on the bed with her, easing her legs apart and placing a kiss high on her thigh. There would be an easy way to tell: reach down and touch their hair. But Mairwen's starting to understand the spirit of their game. Since they haven't bound her wrists, she crosses her arms above her head to remove the temptation to use touch as an identifier. The mouth is warm and insistent, moving up steadily. When she feels the sudden press of a tongue between her legs, Mairwen gasps. "Arthur?"

"Very good." She feels Rhun's words as much as she hears them, his mouth just above her collarbone, kissing a trail down to her breast.

Then the hands come back in earnest, fingers teasing everywhere, and Mairwen grasps the headboard to ground herself. She's touched them both before, but mostly in sleep; this is almost dizzying. The wood creaks in her hands, a counterpoint to her cries, but then her world shrinks back to nothing. Arthur's tongue, Rhun's mouth, their hands: all gone, haunting her with memory. "This isn't a very sporting game." Her breathing is ragged and needy, her mouth gaping.

"Don't worry," Arthur says softly. "We're just getting started." 

Then the hands return, some at her shoulders and others at her hips, coaxing her to sit on her knees. Kisses follow at random: first on her back and then her thighs, at her breasts and then her lips, high on her neck and low on her belly. Hands caress and press and pinch, and Mairwen clutches instinctively when one of them presses close behind her, almost inside her. "Please," she sighs, leaning back. The feel of the chest against her back and then the movement inside her makes her moan. "Rhun."

"I don't think we're making this game difficult enough," Arthur murmurs, his mouth sliding lower and lower until he's found the perfect spot again.

This time they aren't so cruel. They let her climax, twice even, before stretching her out on the bed and trying new touches, new angles. Sometimes Mairwen is so enthralled she's not sure which one is inside her; sometimes she can hear them pleasuring each other while she catches her breath, and she reaches out to touch whoever's closest. Eventually the ribbon comes free, but Mairwen still doesn't look, because it doesn't matter. The whole world has narrowed to this house, this bed, and everything she needs is within reach.

#

Even though he's lived in Three Graces all his life and been in love with a Grace witch nearly as long, belief in magic doesn't come easily to Arthur. He does, however, have complete faith in the trunk at the foot of the bed. It's like a treasure chest, full of mysteries; only good things from exotic places seem to come out of it, each priceless beyond measure. It's unlocked and no one's claimed it, but he still doesn't snoop. He's come to love the surprises.

One day when Rhun is off visiting the rest of the Sayers, Arthur and Mairwen linger in bed. Now that their initial hungers have been sated, they're gentler with each other, though he hopes they never lose their edge completely. He likes the way Mairwen will dig her nails in that little bit too much, leaving marks and taking blood in return. He likes the way she growls his name when she's close to her release. Right now, though, she's stroking him tenderly, idly, and that has its own pleasures. "I made something for you," she says, murmuring the words against his chest. "But I don't know if you'll like it."

"What is it?" When she slides out of the bed, Arthur immediately misses her warmth, but he's too focussed on watching her kneel before the trunk to bother pulling up the blanket. He's not used to Mairwen being unsure; once upon a time he might have mocked her for it, but now he only wonders if he's done anything to put her off balance. 

Mairwen pauses with her hands in the trunk, but with the lid up, Arthur can't see what she's holding. A thousand unsaid words flash through her eyes, disclaimers and explanations and pleas. But she gives voice to none of them. Instead she stands with a bundle of dark grey cloth in her hands and walks back to the bed, perching on the edge. "Here."

Arthur isn't sure what it is at first. A blanket? A cloak? Sitting up, he shakes the bundle open and smoothes it out over his lap. It's a skirt, a long one, reminding him of the new blue dress Mairwen had worn when they clasped hands and ran into the forest to spare Rhun. 

"I liked Lyn too," Mairwen says, voice small and soft, like the last shadows waiting to be banished by the morning sun. "I loved her laugh. I . . . think I would have loved her too." She rests one of her hands on his. "You shouldn't have had to choose. And you don't have to—not anymore. Not here, not with us."

There's something like fear in Mairwen's eyes when their gazes meet, and Arthur wants to sweep it away. "Mairwen—"

She doesn't let him finish. Instead she grabs she skirt back and rolls it up. "I'm sorry. I . . . I shouldn't have. I'll alter it and give it to Haf, or take it apart and make—"

Arthur rises up just enough to pull her tight against his chest, skirt and all. "It's mine. You can't take it anywhere." The kiss he gives her is a hard one, but not rough. It's full of memory and regret and bitterness, things that pass so easily between the two of them. Mairwen turns around in his lap and tries to set the skirt to the side, but Arthur refuses to let it go. "It's mine," he repeats, sliding out from underneath her to stand at the bedside.

Mairwen watches as he unfastens the skirt, anxiousness making her breath shallow. "Do you . . . do you need help with. . . ?"

Arthur's half-smile catches the sunlight. "I remember how to put on a skirt. And I know how to take one off."

"I can vouch for that." Smiling now, Mairwen draws her knees up to her chest and sets her chin on them, watching Arthur dress himself. 

They'll never know what Lyn would be like at this age, in this place. But this skirt fits Arthur perfectly and he even does a turn to show off Mairwen's handiwork. "Thank you," he says simply, leaning over to kiss her.

"You're so beautiful," she whispers against his lips, and a stray tear or two slips between their mouths. "You always have been." Then she glances back to the trunk. "There's something else. I didn't make it, but I had Haf buy it along with the book."

Arthur sits against the headboard, spreading the skirt out around him. He had forgotten how comfortable skirts could be, how freeing. Part of him wants to run outside just as he is and pace the wind. "I'm starting to feel a bit sorry for Haf. What they must think of her in the city."

They share a wicked little laugh before Mairwen returns to the chest. "I got it mostly for me," she admits, "but if you or Rhun want to use it. . . ." She sets it on the folds of Arthur's long skirt.

_It's a penis_ is Arthur's first thought, muted by confused shock. He isn't sure if it's made of wood or what, but the shape is undeniable. A series of straps pool around it like lambent snakes. "Can you. . . ?" He isn't even sure what he wants to ask; he's torn between wanting to watch Mairwen use it on herself and having her use it on him. 

Smiling, Mairwen shakes out the straps and secures them around her hips. "I'll need the bottle," she says easily, as if the sight of her wearing a penis isn't shocking in the least. The more Arthur watches, though, the less absurd it is. If he no longer has to deny Lyn, if he can wear skirts again, why can't Mairwen have this? 

He's still watching in awe as she grabs the bottle from the bedside table, but he takes it from her before she can open it. "I want to." Arthur pulls Mairwen onto the bed and pours the liquid into his hands, smoothing it along the fake penis. When he's done, he slides his hands along her hips and pulls her close. What a pair they make.

Mairwen takes the bottle and sets it on the table before pushing him down on the bed and hiking up his skirt. "You'll have to let me know if I'm doing okay." She licks him gently before coating her hands in the liquid and massaging him.

Arthur's breath catches and his fingers dig into Mairwen's thighs as she works. She may not have the practical knowledge he and Rhun do, but the book has clearly served her well. By the time she enters him, he barely has enough wherewithal to unfasten the skirt and shove it aside. He doesn't want to stain it, after all, and the less there is between him and Mairwen, the better.

#

Three Graces no longer requires a sacrifice. Its last three Saints, now its walking hearts, give an offering instead. Rather than sending a boy into the forest to die, to be haunted and remade and eventually destroyed, the three go into the forest periodically. The Slaughter Moon is no longer their clock; they no longer wait for blood-red leaves or other portents. They give freely, and they receive in kind.

All of Three Graces suspect exactly what kind of offering the three perform in the forest, and so there is no night-long vigil; the village children are kept at home so they don't hear the tell-tale sounds and ask uncomfortable questions. Some wonder why they can't just make their offering at the stone in the Vaughn manor, but the three insist on making an offering in the forest. Not all parts of the tradition were flawed. The forest is still the physical heart of the valley, of Three Graces, and they honour it with their bond.

They don't take much in with them. In Mairwen's satchel are a small bottle, her toy, and a towel for each of them. They dress simply, knowing the forest cares as little for their clothing as they do. As they pass, the bird women caw and coo, fawning over Mairwen's growing curls, and Arthur no longer flinches when they call him pretty. Words are words, skirts are skirts, and nothing has to mean more than he wants it to.

Rhun always leads the way to the stone, spreading a large patchwork quilt beside but not covering it. Some of the tradition must still be kept, after all, and they chose the stone. It's his least favourite part of the offering, though, so he always lets Arthur and Mairwen begin. The three undress each other, making a rite of the mundane, and Rhun sets all their clothing aside as Arthur and Mairwen entwine on the stone, offering their energy, their vitality, to the forest. The effects are immediate: the song of the bird women turns silky and sweet, the wind's edges warm to kiss their bare bodies, and the trees seem to stretch to the sky as if they've just wakened from a long sleep.

He can tell by their moans when they're close to climaxing, so Rhun readies the liquid and the fake penis. The bird women take Mairwen's final cry and echo it, bouncing it back and forth and turning it into an overlapping chorus as she sprawls on the blanket, making room for Arthur and Rhun on the stone. Sometimes she'll reach for her toy early, particularly if the boys lose themselves in each other, but this time—insishe waits until they're spent to fasten the straps and join them. Rhun's reticence never lasts long, not once all three of them are on the stone, eclipsing it with their bodies, their heat. It almost becomes like their game with the blindfold, except everyone can see and hear and touch the others. It's so much better that way. As much as they delight in each other one and one, there is a magic between the three of them that has nothing to do with Three Graces or the forest or the bargain. It is simply them, Arthur and Mairwen and Rhun, and the enormity of them choosing each other—insisting on each other and accepting no less—when the world wanted anything but.

Life, death, and a blessing in between. That was the magic of the Grace witches. Life: Rhun's endless smile, Arthur's aching, Mairwen's curiosity. Then death: Rhun's naivety, Arthur's hatred of Lyn, Mairwen's false father. The blessings in between: Rhun's heart, big enough to love two; Arthur's core, Arthur and Lyn both, no longer separated or stifled; Mairwen's blood, human and not, cursed and not. They bring each other to life each day. They bless each other with every moment, every glance, every touch. And in every moment, they're tinged with the shadow of death, knowing Three Graces won't know how to maintain the bargain when they're gone. 

They offer themselves to the forest and each other until the moon replaces the sun, until the sky fades from black to blue, and long after the bird women have dispersed. Their sleep is scattered and sore on the forest floor, but they're wrapped around each other and they close the offering in reverse, helping each other dress and clean up, leaving no traces of themselves in the clearing except the warmth that the stone will retain for days.

Life, death, and a blessing in between. That has been the formula of Three Graces' safety for generations, and so it will be for a generation more.


End file.
